


on display in a gilded cage

by furchte_die_schildkrote



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Corsetry, Creampie, Crying, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facials, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Masturbation, Forced to pick a companion to get raped, Forced to wear revealing clothing, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Object Insertion, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Victim's loved ones forced to watch, also some combeferre/omcs at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/pseuds/furchte_die_schildkrote
Summary: Enjolras survived the barricade only to be captured, tried for treason, and sold to a depraved aristocrat as a sex slave. Tonight, Enjolras will serve as a party favor for his new master.
Relationships: Enjolras (Les Misérables)/Original Male Character(s), Enjolras/Original Male Aristocrats
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	on display in a gilded cage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



> I wasn't able to get to this during the main writing period, but your prompts were just so inspiring that I could not let this idea drop! I hope you enjoy, and that your nonconathon has been absolutely fantastic!

As Enjolras watched the servant brush and arrange his curls, he resolved that tonight would be the night he killed Felix. From the moment Felix had mentioned tonight’s party, Enjolras’ dreams of freedom had grown into something more tangible. Part of him questioned his own judgment, wondering whether his longing for escape had made him grow reckless. But no, he was decided. This might be his only chance. A full night unchained, watched only by a room full of drunken libertines, their minds clouded by lust—he might just be able to swipe a knife or break a wine glass. It would be risky, no doubt. Even if he managed to kill Felix, his odds of escaping the estate were slim. But regardless of what would become of Enjolras, so long as Felix is dead on the floor by the end of the night, he will have accomplished something.

That resolution gave a fiery spark to his eyes, he thought to himself, watching in the mirror as the servant arranged his curls in a loose, Grecian knot behind his head with delicate ringlets framing his face. The promise of action gave his face more life than all the servant’s efforts to pinch a rosy color into his cheeks. This was the closest Enjolras had come to feeling like a human being in months.

Finally done, the servant stepped back to admire his work. His eyes scanned up and down Enjolras’s form. “I hope you’re sturdier than you look.”

“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?” Enjolras said, his voice leaden.

“That may be true, but I assume our master only has the one cock, and unless his is a uniquely gifted man, that will have placed limits on your situation that won’t exist tonight,” the man said, his hand sliding to the base of Enjolras’s neck. “It would be such a waste if they broke you.”

“I cost them a hefty sum,” Enjolras answered bitterly as the man fastened a chain to the metal collar around his neck. “They would not be so careless.”

The man snorted. “You tell yourself that if it helps. Hands behind your back.”

Enjolras complied and the manacles on his wrist were fastened together to that same chain just as a knock came at the door.

“He had better be ready,” Felix’s sharp, boisterous voice called out as the lock turned.

The servant smiled to himself, pleased with his work. “Just in time,” he whispered under his breath before stiffening up as Felix entered the room. He bowed deferentially to Felix, handing over the chain.

“You’ve done a beautiful job,” Felix said to the servant, his eyes running over Enjolras in a lustful appraisal. “Did the whore behave for you?”

“A little mouthy was all, sir.”

“He does cause trouble when his mouth is left empty too long,” Felix laughed, reaching out to cup Enjolras’ jaw with his hand. “If it’s any consolation, if we use him right, he won’t be able to talk for a week.”

Enjolras spat.

Felix struck him across the face, splitting his lip and making the nerves in his cheeks spark with pain.

“I do appreciate you giving me reason to do that,” Felix said brightly, eying the mark he left with cruel delight. “Your cheek takes on the loveliest color under my hand. Pity the other doesn’t match.”

And with that, Felix struck Enjolras on the other cheek, stars erupting in Enjolras’ vision. His eyes watered with the stinging pain.

“Much better. You know, I thought of having you painted up like a whore before our little party tonight, but this is much more fun,” Felix said before turning to the servant. “He looks good like this, wouldn’t you say?”

“Radiant,” the servant answered, leering. “I would ravish him myself if given the chance.”

Felix erupted in laughter. “I won’t make any promises on that front, but for the time being, if he acts out for you, you have my full permission to slap him. You’re dismissed.”

Enjolras cast Felix a scornful glance before he caught sight of himself in the large mirror that stood behind Felix. The classically styled gown he was dressed in draped delicately off his shoulders, showing off the bare skin of his neck and collarbone. The fabric was a sheer muslin, translucent to the point of being utterly see-through, and underneath that gown was nothing but a corset, pulled painfully tight around his torso to enhance the figure Felix loved so much. The corset stopped just shy of his nipples, clearly visible through the fabric alongside his bare cock. Enjolras recoiled.

Felix laughed before delivering a sharp tug to the chain on Enjolras’ collar, leading him out of the room and down the hall towards the drawing room.

“As much fun as it is breaking you in,” Felix said, threateningly running his hand down the corseted curve of Enjolras’ back until it rested on the nearly-bare flesh of his ass. “I am going to insist you try to behave yourself tonight. Since you have not proven especially receptive to punishment of yourself, I have collected some additional incentives to keep you in line.”

Enjolras glared at Felix, biting his tongue not to give himself away too quickly. Instead, he contented himself with imagining what Felix might look like with a shard of glass impaled in his neck. In a different time, Enjolras would not have sought pleasure in such savage fantasies, and it was dangerous to indulge his hate for his tormentor when now more than ever what he needed was a clear head—but the thought still made Enjolras burn with excitement.

Felix gave a quick, hard pinch to each of Enjolras’ nipples, admiring their rosy color before opening the door to the drawing room.

When Enjolras saw what lay behind that door, his heart leapt and sank all at once: inside the drawing room were not only Felix’s guests, but also a bound and gagged Combeferre and Prouvaire. He had known they were captured alive after the barricades fell, but he had long given up hope of seeing them again.

“Bought fresh from the prison,” Felix whispered in his ear. The men in the room jeered at him, but their taunts barely reached Enjolras. His heart pounded in his ears, deafening him to all but the storm of emotions raging inside him. Joy at seeing his friends alive. Shame at the sight of their bruised skin and gaunt frames in comparison to his own pampered, adorned appearance, as he grew acutely aware of Felix’s reluctance to mark him apart from his early beatings those first few weeks. And most of all, terror, for he had grown well-acquainted with Felix’s taste for cruelty, and from the whispers he had gathered from the servants, Felix’s friends were no better.

His heart sank as he realized the implications of Combeferre and Prouvaire’s presence: he could not kill Felix tonight, not without risking condemning his friends to his current fate. They were brave men, stronger than most, and had been willing to offer their lives fighting beside Enjolras, but this was not something Enjolras could ask of them. He would have to bide his time and endure the night, waiting for another opportunity to arise.

The blindfolds were removed, and Enjolras flinched in expectation of looks of pity or disgust. Instead, their faces brightened with shock and relief. Combeferre shouted out his name, and Enjolras could feel himself grow lighter at the sound of it. It was the first time he had had the dignity of being called by his name in months—not since he was sentenced to be sold at auction.

For his kindness, Combeferre received a sharp slap to the face by one of Felix’s guests.

“I expect your full cooperation tonight, whore,” Felix said as the man who hit Combeferre pulled out a knife, smiling. Felix’s voice carried throughout the room, as much a performance for the guests as a warning for Enjolras. “You will service and pleasure every man here until they have had their fill of you, and you will be grateful for the opportunity. Any insubordination will result in swift punishment for your friends. I have been restrained in my punishments with you thus far, but we will not hold back on them. You are a rare beauty, and I intend for you to last. I don’t have the same care for your friends. Now on your knees—quickly, if you know what’s good for you.”

With a cheerful, expectant look, Felix pressed gently but insistently at the base of Enjolras’ neck until Enjolras sank to his knees under the crushing weight of his own shame. He saw Combeferre and Prouvaire try to look away, but after some indistinct words and a quick pull to the hair from the man with a knife, they both painfully turned their gazes back towards Enjolras.

“It took some time and a great deal of effort, but the beast has been tamed,” Felix proclaimed, releasing the chain from Enjolras’ collar and manacles before petting his head in a perverse masquerade of affection. “Now, who’s first?”

A tall, well-built man stepped forward hastily, holding himself strong and steady in a vain attempt to hide his eagerness. Already opening his trousers, he looked towards Felix. “With your permission,” he said.

“With pleasure, Guillaume,” Felix nodded.

Guillaume pulled out his soft cock and waved it at Enjolras’ face, slapping his face with it. “Well? Go on, then.”

Enjolras took a deep breath before reaching up to wrap his fist around Guillaume’s, toying with it and teasing the head with his tongue until it grew long and hard under his touch—longer than Felix’s, Enjolras noted with displeasure. Guillaume let out a strangled gasp of pleasure as Enjolras wrapped his mouth around the man’s cock. Enjolras took what he could of its length into his mouth, and let his hand cover the rest of it to the root. Bobbing his head up and down, moving his fist along with it, Enjolras hated how instinctive the act had become.

“Oh, God! That’s nice,” Guillaume said, breathless. “Play with your nipples, whore. Let me hear you moan around my cock.”

Even as he glared up at the man, Enjolras moved his free hand to his nipples, rubbing small circles around each in turn. He let out short, shallow moans, letting his mouth hum around Guillaume’s cock.

“Who would have thought the angel of the revolution would be such a harlot?” Felix said, watching Enjolras’ performance with a hungry sort of joy.

“I didn’t come all this way to hear you jerk off to the sound of your own voice, Felix,” said another man standing beside Felix, gruff and impatient. “I came here to get my cock sucked.”

“Excuse me for betraying my pride. His mouth was made to be fucked, but it’s taken months of work to hone—”

A fist balled tightly in his hair brought Enjolras’ focus back to the task at hand. Guillaume pulled Enjolras off of him and began jerking himself furiously. A sharp glance from Felix reminded Enjolras to hold his mouth open, waiting. Guillaume finally came with a throaty grunt, shooting thick spurts of come across Enjolras’ face. Enjolras grimaced at the bitter taste, even if it was one he had grown accustomed to.

Without a moment’s rest, Guillaume stepped away and the gruff man took his place, grabbing a fistful of Enjolras’ hair and pulling so tight his eyes watered from the pain.

“He doesn’t bite, does he?” the man asked. Enjolras struggled to suppress a smirk. With true dignity out of reach, this brute’s fear of rebellion was a workable substitute, no matter how petty or personal that rebellion was.

“Not if he wants his friends to remain intact,” Felix answered with razor-sharp levity.

With Enjolras head held fast, the man opened his trousers and took out his cock—already hard and intimidatingly large. A sharp tug to Enjolras’ hair forced his mouth open with a hiss, which the man took as his opening to push inside. His cock was wider than Guillaume’s, and Enjolras had to force his mouth wide to accommodate its girth and avoid scraping it with his teeth. The man was rougher than he was used to, pulling Enjolras’ head up and down the length at a brutal pace. All Enjolras could do was endure—gagging and sputtering and struggling to breath as man pummelled the back of his throat over and over again. His face burned red from the effort. Tears streamed down his cheeks and mixed with the come that still painted his face.

After what felt like an eternity but was more likely a minute or two, the man pulled Enjolras off his cock. Enjolras’ mouth was wet and swollen from abuse, and he could feel the mess on his face marking him as something used and disgusting, but none of that mattered. Even as strands of saliva still ran between his mouth and the man’s cock, all Enjolras could do was gasp for breath, desperately trying to fill his lungs before the onslaught continued.

“What kind of a whore are you?” the man spat at him.

The man struck him across the cheek while still holding Enjolras’ head firmly in place. Stars exploded in Enjolras’ vision. The force of the slap made his neck ache, his ears ring. His cheek burned with stinging pain, and he could taste blood in his mouth.

“All you have to do kneel there while I fuck your mouth,” the man said with disdain, wiping the mess on his hand off on Enjolras’ gown; the dirty indignity of it stung deeper than the slap to his face could have possibly reached. “It’s not that hard, slut.”

The man pushed inside Enjolras’ mouth once more and Enjolras willed himself to relax. To accept it. The shame of it all burned inside him, but he knew that fighting now would gain him nothing. He had to endure. Wait. Instead of dragging Enjolras’ head up and down his cock as casually as if he were stroking himself, this time he held Enjolras’ head steady in both hands and thrust deep inside his mouth—inside his throat—until Enjolras had taken him to the root. He thrust in and out at a lazy, leisurely pace, watching as Enjolras strained to hold himself slack and open for the man to take his pleasure. As Enjolras forced himself not to gag and struggled to breath around the cock fucking his throat, he could picture it all in his head. He had heard Felix describe it often enough in painfully loving detail—the man’s cock disappearing inside Enjolras’ mouth, the way Enjolras’ lips wrapped tight around its length, red and glistening and stretched to their limit. Gradually, the man’s pace quickened, thrusting in more quickly and roughly, letting out short, forceful grunts with each thrust. Enjolras’ throat convulsed around the man’s cock, something between gagging and swallowing, which only seemed to entice the man even further.

At last, the man thrust forward until he was fully sheathed and Enjolras’ nose was buried in the curled nest of hair at the base of his cock, spilling his seed deep inside Enjolras’ throat as Enjolras swallowed around him.

Enjolras was barely aware of the next cock that replaced it, his head still spinning from exhaustion and lack of air. Whoever this one belonged to—Lucien, he hears him called—was more gentle, content with letting Enjolras set his own pace and depth, letting Enjolras’ raw and abused throat remain untouched for the time being. When he told Enjolras to touch himself as he sucked him off, Enjolras complied. Arousal building in his stomach under the glide of his own hand, he found himself making small, needy moans unbidden around Lucien’s cock. His face burned with shame, wondering what Combeferre and Prouvaire must think of how easy it was to bring him so low.

Just as Enjolras feels himself approaching climax, Lucien pulls out of his mouth and begins stroking himself. Enjolras continues moving his fist along his cock, faster and faster until he reaches his peak and spills messily in his hand. Lucien comes moments later, adding to the mess of tears, snot, saliva, and come coating Enjolras’ face.

Suddenly, Enjolras hears cheering from the crowd, followed by a loud pop before a splash of fizzing liquid hits his face. He inhales sharply in surprise and tastes champagne on his tongue. As his vision focuses once more, he sees a man before him holding the still-foaming bottle.

“Don’t be ungrateful, slut” he said, his voice full of scorn. “Open your mouth.”

Enjolras opens his mouth as the man pours the remainder of the bottle onto his face. Some of the champagne finds his mouth, but most of it simply pours down his face, drenching the sheer fabric of his gown until it clung to every inch of his skin. As his vision focused, he caught himself looking in the floor-length mirror hanging on the wall—a wretched sight. The thin fabric that covered him was now completely transparent, displaying every curve and angle of his body with a cloying caress. His face was splotchy and red, covered in a smear of vulgar filth. His hair was messy and damp from sweat, dotted with droplets of seed that had caught in the ringlets that framed his face; the loose bun that once held his hair up in elegant mockery had now half-falled in an obscenely evocative state of disarray. His lips were swollen and red from use, glistening with spit and come. He turned away, repulsed at the sight of himself.

In spite of himself, he looked towards Combeferre and Prouvaire, seeking some type of solace. Instead, his heart sank as he saw the both of them had grown hard and were straining against their trousers. He knew they meant no ill by it; he could see the shame written on their faces as they realized he had seen. But every part of him was raw, and the sight of his friends stirring at his debasement burned like salt rubbed in a wound.

Just as new tears began to well in his eyes, he heard Felix speak behind him.

“As much fun as that mouth of his is, it’s about time we let his other hole join the fun,” Felix said, kneeling behind him. “Bend over, whore. Let us see that cute little hole of yours.”

A firm hand on his back guided Enjolras down until his face was pressed against the floor, his ass pushed high in the air. Enjolras shuddered as Felix tore the fabric of his gown, fully exposing him to the room. The sheer fabric had done nothing to hide him, but still, it pained him to have this futile gesture at modesty ripped away.

“What a perfect ass, gentlemen. Have you ever see something so perfectly sculpted?” said Felix, his voice glowing with admiration. He gave a quick slap to Enjolras’ ass before grabbing his cheeks and spreading them wide. “And that hole—almost as tight as the day I bought him. Looking at it, you would never imagine the amount of abuse it can take.”

Enjolras felt a thin trickle of oil over his hole, and Felix pushed a finger inside him. At one point, Enjolras might have gasped at the violation, but now, it had become shamefully routine. Felix’s touch was slow, even gentle. Part of Enjolras thought it would be easier—less humiliating—if he were rougher, but a more practical part of him was grateful for whatever respite he would have tonight; already, he felt empty and exhausted, and he had only serviced three of the men so far. Another finger slipped inside, opening him up bit by bit before curling inwards. Enjolras filled with sick dread as he realized what Felix was searching for. He tried to brace himself, but when Felix found that spot inside him, a moan tore its way out of his throat as if on a hook. The men laughed as he began to squirm under Felix’s touch. It was too soon after his orgasm to feel properly good, but the sheer intensity of it was driving him mad.

“Watch him moan like a whore,” Felix boasted, pulling a needy whine from Enjolras as he circled his fingers insistently. “Just from a few fingers in his ass.”

“I’d rather see how he looks impaled on a cock!” shouted the gruff man from before.

“Impatient bastards,” Felix laughed to himself as he made a few deep thrusts with his fingers before pulling out.

Enjolras nearly whined at the loss before he felt the blunt heat of Felix’s cock suddenly breach him, pressing inside so slowly that Enjolras could feel every inch as it progressed. As much as Enjolras had grown accustomed to the physical demands of his life, this part remained almost unbearably overwhelming. He let out short, strangled gasps as Felix sunk his cock inside him deeper and deeper, drawing jeers from the men around him.

“You all should have seen the first time I took him,” Felix said, his voice almost a growl. “I had the whore screaming.”

Finally, Felix was fully seated inside him. Enjolras’ head spun at the overwhelming sensation, and as he adjusted to the mass of the cock filling him up and splitting him open, the sensation began to tip into shameful pleasure. He felt his body clenching around the length, urging it to move. As Felix ran his hand along the corseted curve of Enjolras’ waist in long, hungry grasps, he began thrusting. His movements began shallow and slow, as if he were savouring the heat of Enjolras’ ass enveloping him, and Enjolras found himself rocking his hips back to meet each lazy thrust. His eyes stung with tears at how eager his own body was to accept violation. As Felix’s pace quickened, the pleasure mercifully faded into something overwhelmingly unpleasant. His hands slid down and gripped Enjolras’ hips bruisingly tight as he pounded into him. Enjolras buried his face in his arms as he forced himself to breath through the punishing thrusts until finally Felix’s rhythm began to falter. Enjolras shuddered with disgust as Felix came, spilling his seed hot and deep inside Enjolras’ ass.

As soon as Felix pulled out, Enjolras felt something cold and sharp press against the skin of his lower back—a knife, Enjolras realized. His heart raced as an animal terror consumed him. He began to struggle, but Felix rested a firm hand at the base of his neck, holding him in place. The knife then slid upwards, catching the strings of his corset and slicing through them until Enjolras’ frame was completely freed—vulnerable and exposed, fully naked before the entire room as Felix’s seed leaked out of his ass.

“Have at him, boys!” Felix said, his voice resounding satisfied triumph as he stepped back and the rest of the men rushed forward.

A mess of hands groped at every inch of Enjolras’ skin. Another cock slid into his ass, fucking into him as someone else took his mouth. Enjolras felt his mind drift as all of the guests took their pleasure with him, one after another. It was an unbearable onslaught, and the men made sure never to leave him empty for more than a few seconds at a time. Each man seemed to blend with the next, and all Enjolras was aware of was the endless ache in his jaw, the weight of a cock sliding back and forth inside his mouth, and the intermingling of sharp, splitting pain with a dull, aching soreness deep inside him as his ass was fucked raw.

After what felt like hours, Enjolras felt himself pulled back to the present with a sharp slap to the face. He was empty, he realized.

“We’re done with you, whore,” a man said, spitting on his bare skin. “You’ve gotten sloppy.”

The insult might have stung Enjolras in a less abused state, but now, he just slumped forward onto the floor, collapsing under his own weight as every muscle in his body gave way. Every nerve in his body rejoiced at the promise of rest, no matter how temporary. Then suddenly, a tight fist in his hair dragged him back up to his knees.

“You can’t leave us without entertainment,” Felix hissed in his ear. “Pick which of your friends will take your place.”

Enjolras shook his head desperately as a sinking, piercing terror cut through his mind. He looked towards Combeferre and Prouvaire, his heart breaking as their eyes grew wide in helpless panic.

“No!” Enjolras rasped, his voice barely louder than a hoarse whisper. “Use me. Keep fucking me. I want it.”

His pleas were answered with a cruel, raucous laughter.

“A hole is only good so long as it’s tight, and yours is a gaping mess,” Felix sneered. “Two of us could fuck you at once and not feel a thing. No, either you pick which friend we fuck, or else we’ll pick which friend loses something more dear than his chastity.”

The choice cut Enjolras more deeply than anything prior. The thought of consigning a friend—a brother who had followed him and fought with him with unparalleled bravery—to rape at the hands of these beasts made Enjolras ill. But even so, he did not doubt Felix’s threats. As much as it pained him, Enjolras imagined how each would fare under the abuse of Felix and his friends. Which one might withstand the pain, which one might emerge less broken.

Through gritted teeth, Enjolras responded. “Combeferre,” he said, and then forced himself to meet Combeferre’s gaze as the men descended on him, untying him and forcing him to the floor. To the side, Enjolras saw Prouvaire struggle and shout, begging them to take him in Combeferre’s place.

It was the right choice, Enjolras hoped. Combeferre was less fair, less _pretty,_ and might not inspire the men’s crueler, more defiling passions. Part of Enjolras knew, however, that that was a vain hope. He finally allowed himself to look away as the men began to undress Combeferre, granting him whatever shred of dignity he could muster. Once more, Enjolras slumped forward in exhausted defeat. Fresh tears began to stream down his cheeks as Combeferre’s cries filled his ears.

As most of the men gathered around their new victim, Enjolras heard footsteps approach him. With what little strength he had left, he looked up to see Felix and the gruff man walking towards him, empty champagne bottle in hand.

“Look how jealous he is,” said Felix, his voice dripping with condescension and false tenderness. “The poor little slut can’t stand being left empty.”

The gruff man passed Felix the bottle. “This should fill him up nicely.”

Enjolras laid still, too exhausted to fight as the cold, unyielding neck of the bottle pressed inside him without any resistance. As it reached deeper inside him, the tapered body stretched his rim painfully wide until it would go no further. The men laughed as they admired their work, the glass bottle holding Enjolras open for all to see. As they walked away, Enjolras tried to summon the strength to remove it, but he was too weak. Too tired. Too humiliated, defiled, degraded…

As Enjolras laid on the floor—used and ruined, bottle sticking out of his ass, his friend’s pained cries ringing in his head—he clung to the thought he had at the beginning of the night to kill Felix. To fight back. To escape. The plan was dead now, but the spark still remained. Tonight had not been his chance after all, but that did not matter. All he had to do until then was endure. Survive. And hope that by the time his chance arrived, there would still be a part of him that remembered he was human.

  
  
  



End file.
